


Kill the Wolf

by ScarlettHerring



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Hunter!Damen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Overprotective Auguste, Slow Burn, Will add more tags as I go, light gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettHerring/pseuds/ScarlettHerring
Summary: Prince Damianos of Akielos is embarking on a trip to Vere. But it isn’t the promise of peace or the chance to rekindle his friendship with king Auguste that draws him.It’s tales of a monstrous Wolf who hunts at night, and the number of victims which are quickly piling up.It’s the reward offered by Auguste, so desperate for the carnage to end that he’ll give anything to the one who kills it.It’s a challenge from his father, who says whichever of his sons reclaims Defleur from the Veretians will be named his heir.And soon, it’s Auguste’s mysterious younger brother, cold and beautiful, who Damen suspects knows more about the Wolf than he’s letting on.
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen & Nikandros (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

It was foggy when their ship pulled into the docks at Arles.

“This doesn’t bode well,” said Nikandros.

He’d been finding ill omens throughout their journey to Vere. Thirteen spots on his potato. _Bad omen._ A dead bird on the deck one morning. _Bad omen_. Rust contaminating one of their barrels of freshwater, turning it red as blood. _Bad omen._

“One would think,” Damen began with a smile, “That you don’t have faith in my abilities, old friend.”

“It’s not your abilities I doubt. It’s the Veretians. When a viper opens its nest, you don’t walk in.”

“That was the old king. Auguste is not like that.”

At least, Damen didn’t think he was. It had been many years since they’d exchanged their last letter, and time could change a man. But from what he remembered, Auguste had a good character, an appropriate distaste for corruption and dishonour, and an overwhelming fondness for his younger brother, Laurent.

_You should see how he takes to horses_ , Auguste once wrote to him. _I often catch him braiding flowers into their manes and whispering softly to them, though he would fiercely deny it. He has a mind sharper than any youth you have ever met, and the tongue to match. I truly pity the ones who irk him when he is grown._

Damen remembered the passage clearly, because he remembered how, after, he’d tightened his hold on the letter, stared out at where Kastor was currently training, and wondered if his older brother ever spoke of him fondly to others. As if his scar from their training accident a few years prior hadn’t been answer enough of that.

Perhaps that’s why, eventually, Damen had lost interest in replying to the letters: the envy he’d felt at the love Auguste clearly had for Laurent, the bitterness that rose in his throat whenever he thought of what could have been if there wasn’t a throne between him and his own brother. _There’s still time_ , his thoughts sometimes whispered. _Renounce your claim on the throne. Leave it for Kastor, and perhaps he’ll love you as Auguste loves Laurent._

Damen would not do that. Nikandros would kill him, for one, and he didn’t think Kastor would be a good king. He was too quick to anger, too over-reactive to slights. Akielos deserved better than a hot-headed King who’d send a man to the whipping post for uttering a bad word. Damen liked to think he could be better. He wanted the throne.

He would not be here right now if that weren’t true.

They left the ship, and Damen had time to survey the dockyards while his retinue prepared the horses and unpacked his possessions. The fog was thick. It darkened the sky, making it feel as if night would draw in soon, when in reality it was still early. The silence did not help.

“It would seem the King was right in his assessment,” Nikandros said from beside him. “The Veretians cannot even bear to share the streets with us. It is not too late for us to leave, pretend we had to turn back in a storm-”

“No,” Damen said firmly. “I doubt the people of Arles have such a low opinion of Akielons that they’d miss out on a day of trade. Not even the merchants are at their stalls.”

“Then where is everyone?”

It wasn’t as if someone was about for Damen to ask. The fog was so heavy that he could hardly see the street ahead.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Nikandros murmured as they climbed onto their horses.

“Yes, you’ve said many times.” Damen meant for his tone to be sharp, a dismissal, but he couldn’t help smiling. Nikandros – his stone-faced, loyal, brother-in-arms, who’d fought with him through wars and terrors, who always had his back, no matter the enemy – was spooked. “It’s as if you’re afraid, Nikandros.”

As expected, Nikandros’ back straightened. “What’s there to be afraid of.”

“Monsters.” Damen grinned. “Are you afraid the fabled Wolf of Vere will stalk you home?”

Somewhere in the gloom, a window shut forcefully. A door creaked closed. They were speaking in Akielon, but it seemed like the Veretians knew when the Wolf was mentioned, whatever tongue was used.

Nikandros had gone pale. “You shouldn’t jest.”

“I don’t see why I can’t joke about the Wolf,” said Damen. “When I am the one who shall kill it.”

He led their small procession away from the docks and into the empty street, eyeing the candlelit windows on either side of him. He was glad for the sounds of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles, even if they did seem to echo ominously. Beside him, Nikandros was clutching his horse’s reins tighter than necessary. The rest of the men, on foot, weren’t speaking quietly among themselves, as they normally would on a march like this.

Damen was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. He doubted even an invading army could conjure such a sense of doom and dread on the air.

A figure materialised in front of him, their outline harsh and dark against the paleness of the fog. Damen’s breath caught. For an instant, the drifting fog seemed to warp the outline into something monstrous and unnatural. Then the figure urged their horse forward and let down their hood.

“My brother of Akielos,” King Auguste said in Akielon, extending his forearm in the traditional gesture.

“My brother of Vere.” Damen offered his own arm in a mirrored gesture, eyes slipping past Auguste. He expected to see Auguste’s retinue, men bearing his banners and protecting their King. But there was no one. He was alone.

A smile slid onto Auguste’s clean-shaven face. He would have been 32 now to Damen’s 25 years, and at the peak of his maturity. Damen found himself appreciating the strength of the grip on his arm, the broadness of Auguste’s shoulders, the sword buckled at his hip which he’d know better than anyone how to use. His hair, as gold as a lion’s pelt, grew to his shoulders, and his eyes were the dark blue of deep sea water.

“I must apologise for the informality of your welcome,” Auguste said. “On any other day, I’d have arranged for someone to meet you at the docks and lead you to the palace. We’d have made an event of it.”

If this had been any other day, Damen might have made it known how perfectly the King of Vere fit his preferences. But this was not an ordinary encounter, and instead his eyes slipped, once again, into the empty space behind Auguste, where his men should have been.

“And your own guards?” Damen asked.

Auguste’s smile faltered. “I’d ask no man to ride out on a day like today. They know too well what the fog means.”

“A bad omen,” Nikandros muttered quietly, but not quietly enough.

Auguste turned his head to him.

“My good friend and the kyros of Ios, Nikandros,” Damen introduced.

Auguste tipped his head in acknowledgement. “It’s far more than a bad omen, kyros. Fog like this only creeps out of the woods when the Wolf does.”

A crash from one of the nearby alleys had them all reaching for their swords. But it was only two stray cats, chasing each other across the street. Auguste released a breathless laugh.

“You must think it ridiculous, my friend, that a King would ride out unguarded purely because of superstition.”

“It isn’t just superstition though, is it,” Damen said. “I’ve heard the Wolf has left a pile of corpses in its wake.”

“That it has. Which is why I’m especially relieved that you’ve come. The Lion’s Lion, they call you in Akielos. The man who makes predators prey.”

Damen grinned. “You kill one irregular lion, and they start to make up stories about you.”

“You will have to share them with me, once we’re safely at the palace. The Wolf doesn’t spill blood until the night falls, but even now it could be watching from the shadows, picking its next victim.”

Auguste and Damen rode up front of the procession, while Nikandros and the men followed a short way behind. Every door they passed betrayed signs of what the family inside believed: a smear of blood across the wood on one, a string of tiny bones dangling from another. Ways to ward of demons and monsters from fairytales, not a predator of flesh and blood.

Glancing sideways at Auguste, Damen wondered how it was that he hadn’t slain the Wolf himself yet. Auguste was an excellent swordsman. If he was as desperate as his offered reward implied, then Damen didn’t see why he wouldn’t load himself up with weapons, wade into the Woods, and stop the Wolf by any means necessary.

“How was your journey?” Auguste asked politely, just so the silence of the fog could be filled.

“Pleasant enough, despite the superstitious protests of one of my men.” Damen smiled privately, imagining how Nikandros must be bristling behind him.

Auguste nodded. “I’m glad. And your brother? How is he?”

“Stubborn and hot-headed as always.” Damen couldn’t very well tell Auguste that Kastor hadn’t returned to Ios in months, that he was likely making deals with Vaskian raiders and anyone else who had soldiers to lend, all with the intent of marching on and seizing Defleur. “What about Laurent? Does he fare well?”

For the first time, Auguste’s smile slipped. “I wish I could say for sure. He’s been so distant and curt lately. I don’t think he agrees with the measures I’ve taken to have the Wolf slain, but he doesn’t understand the pressures I’m under, as King. I’m glad he will never need to know them. You, on the other hand, I’m sure are eager to be crowned.”

“There’s a long path before that. My father still hasn’t decided which of his sons he’ll name heir.”

“Of course. Forgive me. I forget that bastards are not regarded the same way in Akielos and Vere.”

If they were, Damen knew he’d be Crown Prince without contest, as Theomedes’ only legitimate son. But Kastor was loved by their father just as much as he was, and it genuinely caused Theomedes pain to have to choose between them. So he hadn’t chosen. He’d made a game of it instead.

_Whichever of my sons can reclaim Delpha from the Veretians will be my heir. That land was ours, originally. Whichever of you can return it to Akielon rule will be worthy of inheriting my throne._

Damen hadn’t known what to make of that. They had a tentative peace with Vere – his efforts of writing to Auguste in his youth was aimed at strengthening that. Was he to undo all that work with war? Was he to seek Delpha (or Defleur, as it was known to the Veretians) as a dowry by offering himself in marriage? What did their father expect?

Only thanks to Jokaste had the way become clear.

“ _I hear_ ,” she’d told him quietly one afternoon, while approaching him in the gardens, “ _That King Auguste of Vere is looking for a hunter. A man to slay a wolf. Could that be you?_ ”

“ _I’ve no time for that_ ,” Damen had responded, frustrated. Kastor, at this point, was already long gone from Ios. His brother had chosen war.

“ _But I think you do._ ” Jokaste had leant closer, her fair hair a soft a curtain against Damen’s shoulder. “ _King Auguste is desperate. The Wolf has killed many. He says he will gift the one who slays it anything they ask for, even a province._ ”

Even Defleur.

Damen tried not to let thoughts of his reward cloud his face. But of course Auguste noticed the moment he stopped trying to meet the Veretian’s eye.

“So what will it be?” Auguste asked lightly. “What is the price of the mighty Lion’s Lion?”

“Auguste-”

“It’s alright, Damen. I know the reward is what drew you. You’re not the only one to have come from afar to claim it. I should be grateful that there’s something I have that you want, otherwise you wouldn’t have come.”

Auguste drew his horse closer to Damen’s, so their words wouldn’t be overheard.

“You are the best hunter I know of, and you will undoubtably come with a high price. So please let me know it in advance. I would rather prepare than have you spring it on me when you present the Wolf’s head before my court.”

Damen swallowed. “Defleur.”

Auguste’s eyebrows shot up. Damen had known the request would shock him. Wars had been fought over Defleur in the past. It wasn’t just about the value of the land – it was reputation, honour. The Veretains had triumphed over Akielos the day they’d won Delpha from them. Giving it back would be to relinquish that pride.

“Please believe that I wouldn’t ask for this unless I truly needed it,” Damen added. “It is in Vere’s best interest that I claim it this way instead of through other means.”

Auguste was silent a moment longer, no doubt reading between the lines of what he’d said. Eventually, he sighed. “I know you are a man of your word, Damen. Very well. Kill the Wolf, and Defleur is yours. I’m sure my brother can think of some way to make it sound advantageous to us.”

Damen’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet. First you have a monster to hunt. It will not be easy. Other hunters have already tried and failed. In fairness, your price is not the most outrageous I’ve heard.” Auguste smiled crookedly. “Torveld of Patras arrived a week ago with the finest assortment of Patran hunters he could find. And do you know what he asked for? If he kills the Wolf, he has asked for my brother’s hand in marriage.”

Now it was Damen’s turn to be shocked. “But Laurent is a child.”

“In my mind too. But he is now a young man of twenty. Still, I believe I’ll always see him as that little boy who’d come to my rooms when a storm woke him.”

Damen smiled fondly, even while he recalled his own childhood of sleeping through thunder alone. “I’ve never met your brother.”

“You’ll have the honour of it soon, I hope. I’ve told him many great things about you. Honestly, he wanted to come with me to greet you at the docks today. But I wouldn’t allow it.”

“It would be unwise to have the heir to your throne unguarded in the same moment as yourself.”

“The throne has nothing to do with it. Even if Laurent were not my heir, I wouldn’t want him beyond the palace walls on a Wolf Night.”

They reached the palace gates, which had been left open for Auguste’s return. There was no one present to shut them once they were through. Damen noted this all with tight lips. No decent soldier should let their own fear overwhelm their sense of duty. They should have been on the gates at all times. No wonder Auguste was desperate to end this madness. An invading army need only wait for a Wolf Night to take Arles with ease.

Only when they were close to the steps of the palace did Veretians materialise out of the fog. A couple of stable hand came forward to take their horses once they’d dismounted.

“There will be a feast tonight,” Auguste said. “To officially welcome you to my court. Until then, I’m sure you’d like to rest after your long journey. I’ll have some servants show you to your rooms.”

“If it’s alright with you,” Damen said, “I’d rather be shown the Wolf’s territory.”

The stablehands hurried away with the horses, as if afraid this job would fall to them as well. Auguste watched them with amusement.

“You will scandalise my court if you keep mentioning that beast so casually,” he said. “They fear that speaking its name will summon it to their chambers.”

“Then I shall shout its name to the sky.” Out of the corner of his eye, Damen could see Nikandros was subtly trying to catch his attention. But Damen was feeling emboldened by the obvious fear in the air. “The moment I come face-to-face with the Wolf, it will be over. I shall have it dead at my feet with ease.”

“You’ll want to go to the woods behind the palace then,” Auguste said. “We believe that is where it lurks. Though you should know that the Wolf has never been seen at any time other than night. You may not find it.”

Damen doubted that, but a firm grip on his arm from Nikandros stopped him from voicing this.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Auguste said, and with a polite dip of his head left them alone on the steps.

Only when he was gone did Nikandros glare at Damen. Damen shook off his grip.

“Let me guess: you don’t think I should venture into the woods because of your bad omens.”

“You shouldn’t have promised King Auguste something you might not deliver.”

Damen barked out a laugh. “Nikandros, I have slain lions. Do you know how much bigger and fiercer they are than wolves? This is not even a pack of wolves - just one. I don’t see what the issue is.”

“That’s because you’re refusing to accept that this might not be a creature of flesh and blood. What if it’s something more?”

“Like what?”

Nikandros hesitated, glancing up at the tall spire of the palace. Amidst the gloom, they looked like the masts of a ship. “I don’t know. But there is something about this place that makes me uneasy.”

“It is your distrust of the Veretinas, nothing more. Now, let us go examine the woods. I’m sure we’ll find tracks that’ll put your mind at ease.”

Nikandros said nothing more, just watched with twisted lips as Damen sent most of his men ahead to ensure their accommodation was suitable. The rest would accompany them to the woods. Among these men was Pallas, who Damen knew was the most capable of tying strong knots and skinning a kill cleanly.

The Wolf’s head would go to Auguste, but the pelt would stay with Damen. His cloak was already adorned with the fur of the lion who’d made him a hero. He could only imagine what stories they’d tell about him once the Wolf was slain too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thank you so much to everyone who read, commented and left a kudos on this fic so far! :) I can't say that every update will come as quickly as this one...

From the way Auguste had spoken about them, Damen assumed the woods behind the palace would be fairly small. Large enough for a lone wolf to hide among, but not quite grand enough to host hunts in.

He was wrong.

The woods was enormous. It stretched from the edge of the palace wall all the way to the distant mountains, ghostly and pale amidst the fog. Once Damen had exited through the side door in one of the gardens (one filled with topiary bushes cut into the shapes of prancing animals), he’d just stood there stared at all the trees ahead. The enormity of what he’d taken on sunk in.

But what did it matter if the woods was enormous? The Wolf was still just a wolf, and he’d find it.

The first task was to search for tracks. According to the side door’s guard, the Wolf had been spotted at the edge of the woods before. Damen was unable to extract an exact description of what the beast had looked like, but the information was enough to tell him that he shouldn’t have to go too deep into the trees for tracks.

He crouched low to the ground, Nikandros and the rest of his men silently watching. It must have been thrilling for them, to see the Lion’s Lion at the beginning of a hunt. Carefully, Damen pulled back the edges of bushes, swept aside tall blades of grass, plucked strands of fur from the mud. He found evidence of squirrels, hares, birds, deer, even a horse or two. But no predator tracks. No wolf.

“How odd,” he said, to no one in particular.

Nikandros was crouched beside him. “Are you still convinced that this will be easy for you?”

Damen clenched his fist. It was foolish of him not to extract more information from Auguste before venturing out. He needed to know how frequently the Wolf appeared in Arles, when it had taken its last victim, where the corpse had been found. All things that would give him an idea of where to start looking. He could sweep the whole woods if he had to, but there was only so long left before nightfall.

“Start setting up the traps,” Damen ordered his men, who carried the needed materials between them. “One here and one there. Nikandros, Pallas, with me. We will scout ahead for more spots.”

Damen had brought a variety of hunting traps with him from Akielos. He had thick rope nets that would spring up into the air, nooses that would tighten around limbs, cages that would fall down from the sky. If it came to it, he also had sharp metal teeth that would close around a creature’s foot, holding it in place, but he would only bring those out if he grew desperate. Traps that harmed whoever sprung them were not to his taste.

Every trap was equipped with a bell which would ring ceaselessly as whatever was caught squirmed and struggled to break free. They would be baited with hunks of bloody meat, which should hopefully deter anything other than predators from springing them.

Damen ventured deeper into the woods, instructing Pallas to mark another spot for a trap whenever he judged the location good for one. They came across a small pond, which the Wolf would hopefully be drawn to for water, and set up a few nooses by the bank. It was then, as Damen tied the final knot, that he spotted a footprint in the mud. Made by a boot, not an Akielon sandal. He considered it carefully, lifting his eyes to the fog ahead.

“What do you make of this?” He beckoned Nikandros over.

Nikandros frowned. “The King did say there would be others hunting it.”

Damen wasn’t convinced. If the print did belong to another hunter, they would have found more of them. A hunter wouldn’t care about leaving tracks. But this was the only print they’d seen in all the way they’d come from the palace wall. Whoever left it had made an effort to get rid of the others. They hadn’t wanted anyone to know they’d been out here.

“The last trap is finished, my prince,” Pallas said.

“Thank you, Pallas.” Damen straightened from his crouch. “Head back to the palace. Make sure the other traps have been completed on the way. Nikandros and I will go on further.”

“We will?” Nikandros’ eyes widened.

Pallas bowed quickly, “As you wish, my prince,” and hurried away. Damen stayed silent as his footsteps faded.

“You can’t expect to find it in one day,” Nikandros eventually said. “If it were so easy they’d have killed it themselves.”

“What weapons do you have with you?” Damen asked.

Nikandros blanched. “None.”

With a roll of his eyes, Damen unslung the crossbow from his back. He tossed it to Nikandros, along with the sash of bolts. He unsheathed his sword.

“The Wolf must have a den,” Damen said. “Somewhere to sleep while it waits for the fog.”

“It could be in the mountains.”

“Unlikely. If it only emerges when the weather turns, it’ll be close. Somewhere it can get to its prey with ease.” Damen chose a direction, the same one the footprint led in, and walked. “Shout if you find anything.”

He could hear Nikandros grumbling under his breath as he went the other way.

It didn’t take long for the fog to close in around Damen. Each tree only revealed itself when he was a few paces away from it. The ground was damp. The air was cold. He was glad he’d dressed warmly in his fur-lined cloak. A few times, he thought he heard a distant shout. But it would only be a crow, cawing from up high, the emptiness of the woods warping its cry.

Deep down, Damen knew Nikandros was right. They would not find the Wolf today. He clenched his fists in frustration. But that might mean someone would die tonight. Someone he could have saved, if he’d been better.

 _You are the best_ , Auguste had said so confidently.

 _No,_ Damen thought, _I just have the best story._

The thought had often come to him, especially during the celebrations in Ios, when children chased each other through the streets, pretending to be their prince and his prey: _if I had to, could I do it again?_

The lion had cemented Damen’s reputation as a hunter, but it could just as easily have led to his death. It had been luck - he hadn’t known what he was doing. Not then. In the years since, he’d improved his skills by hunting other creatures because that was what was expected of him, but never anything as dangerous as his first. The Wolf, though, that would put his mind at ease. That would prove to him what everyone else already thought: that he was actually good at this.

A sound carried on the still air. The footfalls of something large were approaching. Damen inhaled a steady breath and ducked behind a tree. This was it. He could already imagine the stories he’d tell about this moment: _The fog was thick. The Wolf did not know that, on this occasion, it was not the hunter, but prey._

The footfalls were almost beside him. Sword drawn, Damen leapt out from behind the tree.

His roaring mind only just managed to still the blade he was preparing to bring down in an arc. The creature wasn’t the Wolf - it was a horse. The horse whinnied and reared. Damen heard someone inhale sharply as they were thrown from its back. The startled creature fled into the fog. Damen lowered his blade stiffly. The rider hadn’t moved from where they’d landed.

“Shit. _Shit_.” Damen rushed to the rider’s side, falling to his knees in the mud beside him.

It was a young man, cloaked in brown, with a hood pulled up over his face. Damen eased the hood back to check that the rider was still breathing. It was his own breath that stopped.

Damen liked to think he had an eye for great beauty. He owned the most exquisite slaves in Ios, each one chosen for their remarkable features, which had been carefully cultivated in the slave gardens. And yet even if he went to the gardens himself and described to the masters the most beautiful slave he could think of, they would still not be as beautiful as the unconscious man before him.

Blonde hair, gold and fair. Long, pale lashes casting shadows on skin that was twin to the marble of the palace in Ios. A lithe frame, like a dancer, with long, slender legs. Features as fine and delicate as chips of diamond.

Damen stared longer than he would have if the rider was awake to stare back. He felt powerless to do anything else. If he looked away, even for a moment, he was afraid this beautiful man would be swallowed up by the fog, leaving just the echo of a haunting memory.

A moment passed, and the rider groaned. His eyelids fluttered open. Damen felt parched, looking into eyes so blue, he could think only of oceans and sapphires and sunlit skies. In that moment, he knew he couldn’t leave the woods without learning this young man’s name.

The young man was staring up at him now, and Damen hoped it was the same for him as well. He imagined, quite foolishly, those pale lips parting breathlessly, a hand reaching out to trace his jaw, those eyelids dipping as the rider asked, demurely, the name of the man who’d woken them. Like a cursed maiden in a fairytale, awakening in the arms of a prince.

Instead, Damen heard a faint hiss as a dagger slid through the air towards his face. He jerked back, startled, as the rider drew the dagger back to his side, holding it like a man who knew where to strike, and threw himself at Damen with a shout. Damen fell back into the mud, catching the rider’s wrist. He didn’t want to hold it too hard, for fear of bruising that milky white skin, but the rider was giving him no choice.

“Wait!” Damen cried in Veretian. He tried to think of it from the rider’s point of view. He knew only that his horse had been spooked, he’d been thrown from it, and now a stranger was leaning over him, too close. “I’m not a thief!”

“I’ll cut out your tongue!” The rider cried, features constricting with hate.

His other hand came up to gouge Damen’s eye, and Damen caught it too, resulting in their positions shifting, so that the rider was now the one in the mud. He kicked Damen’s stomach, his thighs, anything he could deliver a hit to.

“What is going on here?” Nikandros exclaimed, out of breath. His eyes blew wide when he saw Damen pinning the rider in the mud. Then they narrowed. He knew, better than anyone, Damen’s preferred type.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Damen insisted, even as another kick caught him in the ribs. “I spooked his horse, and now he thinks I’m robbing him.”

“You’re doing a great job of convincing him otherwise. Let him go.”

“I can’t! He has a dagger!”

With a weary sigh, Nikandros plucked the dagger from the rider’s grip with one hand, and shoved Damen off him with the other. Both of them stayed down, catching their breath. The rider glared at Damen. Damen cradled his side, which would probably bruise.

“I apologise,” Nikandros said in stilted Veretian. “We are not thieves. We are hunters, invited by your King to kill the Wolf.”

The rider snorted. He spat out, in perfect Akielon, “So he’s invited animals to catch an animal. How fitting.”

Nikandros stiffened, and Damen raised an eyebrow.

“Watch your mouth, Veretian,” Nikandros said angrily. “You are in the presence of Prince Damianos of Akielos. I shall not allow insults against him to go unpunished.”

“Apologies,” the rider sneered. “Shall I lie back in the mud and allow him to finish raping me?”

Heat and indignation coloured Damen’s face. He bit back the protest that rose is his throat like bile. Nikandros bared his teeth. The insinuation that a prince of Akielos would abandon honour and have his way with someone while a guest on foreign soil would result in lashes at best in Akielos. The loss of a tongue at worst. Damen saw Nikandros automatically reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Peace, Nikandros.” Damen raised a hand to still him. He turned his gaze to the rider. “I can only beg your forgiveness for making you believe those were my intentions. It’s entirely my fault that your horse threw you, and I shall bare whatever words you wish to unleash on me for that. Please, allow me to escort you back to the palace to have any wounds treated. Perhaps I can invite you to the feast that is to be held there tonight as my personal guest, to make amends?”

The rider made a point of looking Damen up and down, his lip curling. “And why would I willingly go anywhere with a brute like you?”

“Your horse is gone,” Damen reminded him. “And it can be dangerous to travel alone.”

“Yes, as you’ve undoubtedly proven.”

The rider whistled softly. A grunt came from amidst the fog, and the horse who’d bolted trotted gleefully to his side. She was a beautiful grey mare, who pushed her nose against the rider’s chest the moment she was close enough. A gentle smile graced the rider’s face for the first time as he stroked her ears. Damen couldn’t look away. His eyes lingered on the rider’s legs as he heaved himself back into the saddle with one fluid movement. Nikandros cleared his throat.

“Supposing I’d agreed to your offer,” the rider mused, smoothing the horse’s forelock. “Do either of you even know which the direction the palace is in?”

Damen looked expectantly to Nikandros, who appeared to be doing the same to him.

“It… erm… would appear not.” Damen’s face felt warm again.

The rider rolled his eyes and stroked his horse’s neck. “What do you think, Heni? Should we leave them to find their own way, or take pity on them?”

The horse blew two puffs of air through her nostrils. The rider hummed.

“You Akielons are fortunate that my horse is more forgiving than I am. I’ll show you the way in exchange for an apology.”

Nikandros started forward. “We already-”

“Not to me.” The rider gestured to his mare. “You spooked her. She isn’t used to giant animals jumping out at her.”

The look of utter disgust on Nikandros’ face almost made Damen smile. But he kept his expression carefully calm as the rider turned to him expectantly. Was this a lesson in humiliation, or did he truly care for his horse that much? He was brave to demand such a thing of a prince, even a foreign one. But of course the rider was brave. He wouldn’t be in the woods on a Wolf Night if he wasn’t.

Damen approached the mare carefully. She was as magnificent as her owner, and watched him with solum eyes. He dipped his head low, spreading his arms in an exaggerated bowing motion.

“Lovely Heni,” he said, lifting his face. “Please forgive my thoughtless act. I would never wish to disturb a creature as fair as you. I startled you, but you too have startled me with your beauty. I came here to hunt a beast, and instead I’ve come across the most bewitching and beautiful creature I’ve ever set my eyes on. It would truly pain me for you to think ill of me after leaving the woods, when I shall always think fondly of you.”

By the end, Damen was no longer looking at the horse. He’d lifted his eyes gradually, until he was staring directly at the rider. The rider wasn’t smiling, so Damen didn’t either. Let each of them decide what had been in jest and what had been true.

Nikandros was shaking his head in dismay. The horse blew breath into Damen’s face.

“I suppose that was adequate,” the rider said, and urged the horse on, slow enough for them to follow behind.

Damen had no intention of staying behind.

“Does your horse forgive me?” he asked, jogging to catch up with the horse’s head.

The rider made a point of not looking at him. “She hasn’t trampled you, so I’ll assume so.”

“And her rider? Does he forgive me?”

Nikandros raised his arms, as if to say, _What are you doing?_

The rider lifted his chin. “Like I said: my horse is more forgiving than I.”

“Then you must let me make amends.” Damen was aware that he was following the rider like a hound begging for scraps after a hunt. Very un-prince like behaviour, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Don’t you have a Wolf to hunt?”

“The hunt won’t take me long.”

They’d reached the part of the woods where Damen’s men had set the traps. The rider eyed them distastefully. “I doubt it, if a few nets are the best you can come up with.”

“I don’t like using traps that kill instead of capture. I’d rather not harm Vere’s innocent wildlife if I can help it.”

The rider had no reply for that. He scowled, but not in an angry way. His posture softened, and Damen dared to hope that he was getting somewhere.

It was short-lived.

“And what are _you_ doing out in the woods?” Nikandros asked pointedly from behind them.

Just like that, the rider stiffened up again. “This land is my home, Akielon. I need no excuse to wander it.”

“Even on a Wolf Night?” Damen hated to admit it, but Nikandros had a point. He looked back, exchanging a meaningful glance with his friend.

Nikandros’ gaze fell to the rider’s stirrups. “Nice boots.”

 _Boots_. Damen had almost forgotten about the lone footprint they’d found in the mud. He eyed the rider’s boots thoughtfully. It was hard to tell for sure, but they looked the right fit for the prints.

“It isn’t illegal for Veretians to go out before a Wolf Night,” the rider huffed. “Just unwise.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s unwise,” Damen said.

Irritation spiked the rider’s features. His horse stopped abruptly.

“There.” The rider gestured to the distance, where the spires of the palace were visible amidst the fog. “That’s the palace. You can make your own way from here.”

And before Damen could call out a thanks or beg for a name, the rider dug his boots into the horse’s side and galloped away. His hoofbeats were audible long after he’d vanished into the fog.

“Spiteful bitch,” Nikandros said, spitting into the dirt.

“You wouldn’t be cheerful if your day was interrupted by strangers.” Damen was still watching the fog, hoping against reason that he might appear again. “I wish we’d met in a more pleasant way.”

“Don’t forgot why you’re here, Damen. You didn’t come to Vere to hunt for lovers.”

Damen grinned. “So now you _want_ me to hunt the Wolf?”

“Not really.” Nikandros placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I’ve been by your side long enough to know a pretty, blue-eyed blonde is more dangerous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Next chapter - Damen goes to the welcome feast


	3. Chapter 3

As much as Damen hated to admit it, Nikandros was right. Once they were back at the palace, and he was swapping his hunting cloak for something more regal for the feast, it wasn’t the Wolf his mind lingered on. It was the rider, and Damen swore that his rooms had been chosen specifically to torment him.

The walls were deep blue - _blue like the rider’s eyes_ \- and everywhere he looked were gold embellishments - _gold like the hair that’d spilled out when Damen pushed back the hood._ The floor was a pattern of interlinking tiles, more gold used to pick out the shapes of starbursts and diamonds. Even the doors to the balcony had lines of gold curling from their edges.

Damen thought about stepping outside to let the cold air clear his head. He also thought about taking the servant who’d shown him to his rooms up on his offer.

_“If there’s anything - and I mean_ anything - _that you need, please don’t hesitate to ask for it, Prince Damianos.” A quirk of lips, a quick glance at the breadth of his body, a demure dip of the head to make brown curls spill past slender shoulders._

Perhaps a quick tumble in the sheets would take Damen’s mind off the blonde rider and put it back on the Wolf, where it should be. In fact, wasn’t it common knowledge that the Veretian court delighted in obscene performances between pets at celebrations and feasts? Didn’t the members of the court delight in the chance to lend their pet to high-ranking guests? Damen hurriedly added the finishing touches to his outfit.

It was colder in Vere than in Akielos, so Damen wore a cloak over his chiton. It was the blazing red of an Akielon summer, and brought out the red embroidered at the edge of his chiton too. A gold pin, crafted to resemble a lion’s head, held the garment up over one shoulder. Along with this, Nikandros had insisted that he wear a gold laurel in his hair. To remind the court that he was here as a prince, not just a hunter.

Damen left his rooms in high spirits, eager to enjoy the offerings of the evening. Nikandros’ room was the next door down the corridor from his. As a kyros, he had been given his own quarters. They weren’t as large as the rooms Damen had, but they were certainly bigger than what the rest of the Akielons were sharing in another part of the palace. At the end of the corridor, Pallas and another soldier gallantly stood guard. He’d have to send a servant up with some wine for them later as a thanks.

When Nikandros opened his door and saw Damen standing there, he just stared.

“What?” Damen touched his hair self-consciously. “Does the laurel not sit right?”

Nikandros sighed. “Damen. What is going to happen tonight?”

“We will enjoy the festivities of the court. Perhaps the Wolf shall appear if we’re lucky.”

“And what will you need if it does appear?”

Damen looked down at his outfit. He’d forgotten his sword.

“What would I do without you, Nik?” he said, marching back to his room to retrieve it.

Nikandros just shook his head, not wanting to contemplate the answer.

With a sword now tied at his hip, and hunger beginning to gnaw at his stomach, Damen and Nik made their way down to the great hall where the feast would be held. As they walked, Damen took in the many decorations, the overlapping patterns on every wall and floor, the alcoves in the corridors for couples to retreat to. It was too much detail to take in - it almost made his head spin. Most concerning was the state of the windows. They were thin, more decorative than functional, and instead of thick covers that could be used to barricade them shut, they had flimsy panels with the repeated shape of a flower cut out from them.

“And they wonder why the Wolf gets in,” Nikandros muttered, noticing the same thing.

“Oh?” Damen said. “The Wolf has breached the palace before?”

“A few times I believe, yes. Courtiers or guards found dead at their posts in the morning. Pallas reported it to me. He got talking to one of the Prince’s men earlier. Told him all sorts of things.”

“I’ll bet.”

Damen was starting to believe his own prognosis more and more. From the state of the decor, the Veretians clearly favoured extravagance. Extravagance and exaggeration were cut from the same cloth, and so it seemed more and more likely to him that the Wolf was just a regular creature who’d spooked their imaginations into overdrive.

They crossed through a courtyard with fountains and arches leading out into the gardens, where sheltered pathways led around the edge of the palace. Pale-faced guards stood on either side, and amidst the darkening fog, Damen spied bulky forms prowling the grounds.

“The Patran hunters at work,” one of the guards said, noticing Damen’s gaze. “It’s rumoured that Prince Torveld will request the hand of Prince Laurent in marriage, should they succeed.”

Damen nodded his thanks and kept walking.

“Can’t imagine why,” one of the other guards murmured, believing them out of earshot.

“The Prince is an ice-cold bitch for sure, but that face.”

“Give me a chance and some chalis and I’m sure I could make him melt.”

Damen felt uncomfortable as laughter echoed behind him. His own men would never dare talk about their prince in such a way. Even Nikandros, who already had a low opinion of Veretians, had his lips pressed into a tight, disapproving line.

They entered a room with a high ceiling and several corridors branching off in different directions. Ahead, a wide set of marble steps led up to a towering doorway. The heavy doors were open, and low noise yawned out from between them. Eagerly, Damen entered the throng.

The moment he appeared at the top of the steps, he felt eyes on him. There must have been about seventy people in the hall, all dressed in stiff, colourful outfits. Among them, Damen spied the flashes of the jewels that adorned their pets. He expected the exotic creatures to be dancing, or lounging in their master’s laps, or performing other feats to make the heart race and the blood boil. But they stood carefully beside their masters, who had broken themselves into tightly-clustered groups. The groups had their backs to each other, though every now and then, a nervous glance would be thrown over a shoulder. It was far from the revelry he’d envisioned.

“Prince Damianos!”

Auguste’s boisterous cry carried easily over the noise, and Damen felt relieved to see his friend coming towards him with a smile on his face. He clasped Damen’s forearm - a less formal version of what they’d performed at the docks - and then Auguste slung an arm behind his back and guided him forwards.

“So how did it go?” Auguste asked merrily. “Is the Wolf already dead?”

The murmurs around them stuttered. Damen fought not to look embarrassed.

“I jest, of course,” Auguste said. “It wouldn’t be sporting of the Lion’s Lion to kill his prey without giving it a fair chance. Come, meet some of my courtiers.”

Damen was led over to a man and a woman, both already deep in conversation. The man had a red-headed pet lurking at his elbow, holding a glass of wine while his bored gaze swept the room. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Damen approaching him, Nikandros silently in tow.

“Lord Berenger, Lady Vannes, allow me to introduce my friend, Prince Damianos of Akielos, and the kyros of Ios, Nikandros.”

“How thrilling.” Vannes eyed them both eagerly.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Berenger tipped his head cordially.

“Likewise,” Damen said. “I am delighted to be a guest in your country.”

“And how are you enjoying Vere so far?” Vannes asked.

“I must admit,” Damen’s eyes swept again to the murmuring crowd, “I’d imagined the court to be a touch more rowdy. Our Veretian ambassador swore he’d seen public displays during your feasts that would make grown men blush.”

Nikandros gave him a warning look. It would not be princely to offend their hosts with such claims. But rather than look appalled, the Veretians before him just grinned proudly.

“That sounds about right,” Vannes said.

“I’d be happy to provide you with a taste of that vulgarity if that’s what you came for, Your Highness,” the red-headed pet purred.

Berenger paled. “That won’t be necessary, Ancel.”

“Indeed,” Damen said quickly. “It’s not that I’m eager to see these displays. I’m just wondering why the atmosphere of this celebration feels so different.”

“Perhaps the idea of dining with Akielons disgusts them,” Nikandros muttered quietly in Akielon.

“It’s nothing to do with your arrival,” Auguste insisted. “They’d celebrate an invasion if they got a good feast out of it. It’s the Wolf Night. Everyone’s on edge. They want to finish eating and barricade themselves in their rooms as soon as they can.”

That explained why everyone was moving stiffly, as if the feast was something to be endured, not enjoyed.

“What’s stopping them?” Damen asked.

A mischievous gleam appeared in Auguste’s eyes. “No one may retire before the King does. Unlucky for them, I’m in a mood for celebrating, even if they’re not.”

He laughed. He seemed to be the only person in the room unafraid of being too loud.

“You’ll be able to see the real Vere once the fog clears,” Berenger said. “The markets, the parks, the woods.”

“I’ve seen the woods already.” Damen thought of the rider, disappearing into the fog. “They were unexpectedly beautiful.”

Berenger grimaced. “While there’s fog? You’re brave.”

“Prince Damianos isn’t just here as a guest,” Auguste said. “He has also come as a hunter.”

“Ah. That explains it. Only a hunter would be daring enough to venture into the woods on a Wolf Night.”

“That’s not true,” Damen said. “I encountered one of your countrymen in the woods. A lovely young man on a horse.”

While Berenger twisted his lips and Vannes scoffed about how some people were idiots, Damen noticed Auguste turn to survey the room. His eyes darted between faces, as if looking for someone specific.

“Is everything alright?” Damen asked him.

Auguste jolted as if startled. “Of course. I was just seeing if Laurent has arrived yet. But I imagine he’ll be late, as usual.”

Behind their king’s back, Vannes and Berenger shared a knowing look.

“Please excuse me for a moment. There’s something I must see to.”

“Of course.”

Vannes and Berenger dipped their heads as Auguste strode away. Damen watched him approach one of the guards in the corner of the room. After a brief but animated exchange, the guard nodded and rushed away.

“Odd,” Damen muttered to himself.

“On the contrary, it’s rather common for the king to lose track of his brother,” Vannes said.

“The Prince is a grown man now,” Berenger said. “It’s only natural that he’ll want his own space. The King needn’t worry so much.”

“True, but wouldn’t you worry about your brother’s safety if he was the only family you had left?” Vannes’ lips tilted. “Especially after what happened to their _other_ relation.”

Damen frowned. “Other relation?”

Vannes gasped in mock surprise. “Oh, Prince Damianos! I forgot you were still here and listening. Really, you shouldn’t pay attention to us Veretians and our salacious gossip.” Her eyes shone.

Berenger sighed. “See, Vannes, this is why no one ever tells you anything.”

“And yet I seem to be the one who gives everyone else things to tell. Well, if you insist…” Vannes beckoned Damen and Nikandros closer. “Their father, Aleron, had a younger brother. Used to act as an advisor to King Auguste back when he was first crowned. They were close as any uncle and nephew should be, until the morning the uncle vanished. Some thought he’d fled in the night, but all his possessions were still here, you see, even his horse. Auguste refused to send out a search party, so Councillor Guion took it upon himself to do. They searched for days, and eventually, something turned up in the woods behind the palace.”

Vannes licked her lips and took a long gulp of her wine.

“Here’s where it gets good, Your Highness. Guion’s men went into the woods, and they found blood. And finger marks where someone was dragged in the soil. And, eventually, a trail of decaying organs. Like a body had been ripped open and left out as a warning to keep away. There was no way to tell for sure if any of it belonged to the uncle, until they followed the trail deeper into the woods and found a severed hand. The uncle’s signet ring was on one of the fingers.”

Damen could see where the story was leading. Once again, the Veretians had let their imaginations and love for extravagance corrupt what could have been a simple case of murder or banishment.

“Looking back now, they think that he was the Wolf’s first victim. Of course, it’s difficult to say for sure. The Wolf makes a mess of the ones it kills, but not to that extent.”

“Perhaps he wanted to disappear?” Nikandros suggested. “Found a corpse, cut it up himself, and slipped his ring on a finger to make you believe he was dead?”

Vannes raised her glass to him. “Now you’re thinking like a Veretian, kyros. Alas, we’ll never know for sure.”

“As rightly we shouldn’t,” Berenger said pointedly. “What happened is clearly a private matter, and we should respect the King’s wishes to leave it so.”

“You’re no fun.” Vannes pouted. “I don’t know how you deal with him, Ancel.”

“You’d be surprised.” Ancel’s eyes gleamed like wicked emeralds. “It’s the quiet ones who make the most noise in bed. Wouldn't you agree, Prince Damianos? You’ve been awfully quiet since this topic was brought up.”

“I’m just thinking,” Damen lied.

Really, his eyes were scanning the room, seeking out Auguste, or another familiar face, or anyone willing to hold eye contact with him. Courtiers had undoubtedly been staring at his back, but they’d looked away the moment he raised his gaze. He spotted Torveld over by a servant who was handing out drinks and recalled conversing with the Patran prince once during his visit to Akielos. He was too old to be a fan of fantastical stories.

“Ah, I feel we’ve kept you too long,” Vannes said. “I’m sure everyone in the hall must want to shake hands with the hunter our King speaks so highly of. Come, Berenger, to the refreshment table.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” Berenger hurried after her, and Ancel sauntered after him at a leisurely pace.

“I worry what would happen to this country if Kastor really did manage to amass his army,” Nikandros said, switching to Akielon so that they could talk privately. “Why stop at Defleur if useful information is given so freely.”

“You think that was useful?” Damen grinned. “A tale to arouse horror, nothing more. Honestly, a trail of organs… as if a predator would leave the best part of its meal untouched.”

A servant came by with a tray of goblets, and Damen helped himself to one as he plotted his course through the crowd to Torveld. The Veretians parted to let him through, going so far as to halt mid-conversation if he was aiming between them. Despite what Vannes had said, no other courtiers tried to draw him into conversation. Even the pets looked away, shy. This suited Damen just fine though. He made it to Torveld with no interruptions.

“Prince Torveld,” he greeted with a smile.

Torveld seemed startled. “Prince Damianos. How… delightful to see you here. Is it a diplomatic visit that brings you or…?”

“Don’t you know? I’ve come for the same reason you have: to kill the Wolf.”

Torveld grimaced. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Surely so long as the Wolf is slain, it doesn’t matter which of us slays it?” Damen tried to keep his tone light, good-natured. But he’d remembered what Auguste had told him: Torveld hoped to kill the Wolf so that he could claim Prince Laurent’s hand in marriage. Damen needed to kill the Wolf to win Defleur. There wasn’t a way for both of them to walk away with what they wanted.

“I believe I spied your hunters in the gardens earlier,” Damen said. “Have they had much success so far?”

“Some.” Torveld kept his lips tight as he raised his goblet. If this was to be a competition between them, he wouldn’t be giving anything away. He wouldn’t be admitting that he’d made no advancement during his time here either.

“And do you ever join them out there?”

“I’m not a young man like you, Damianos. Not all princes can be strong, skilled warriors.”

Torveld’s breath caught as his eyes landed on a newcomer to the celebration. Damen followed his gaze. A young man with golden hair that’d been severely slicked back, and tight clothes laced all the way down his arms. The outfit’s high collar was like a pedestal for the jewel that was his lovely face. Damen’s heart stuttered. It was the rider from the woods.

He’d invited him to the feast, yes, but he hadn’t actually expected him to show up. At the very least, Damen had assumed a guard would need to check with him before the rider would be permitted past the palace gates, but the rider swept into the hall without any hesitation. Damen expected nothing more from someone who’d made a prince apologise to a horse.

“Oh good,” Nikandros muttered. “Just what this night needed.”

Damen and Torveld excused themselves from each other’s company at the same time, not really listening to the other’s reply as they made their way across the hall to the newcomer. The rider had stopped and was looking around for someone. _For me_ , Damen thought giddily as he neared.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said to the rider, at the same time Torveld arrived beside him and said, with delight, “Prince Laurent.”

“ _Prince Laurent_?” Damen repeated.

Behind him, Nikandros spat a mouthful of wine back into his goblet. “You’re-”

Laurent smiled sweetly. “The spiteful bitch,” he said in Akielon, mimicking the venom of Nikandros’ earlier comment perfectly.

Nikandros paled. “Of course, if I’d known who you were I’d never… I would have-”

“Said it quieter?”

The rider- no, the _prince_ eyed Damen with calculating eyes and a private, smug smile.

“You seem surprised. Did you really not know who I was when we met?”

“No, I- I had no idea.” Damen felt heat rising in his face. This was Auguste’s brother. Auguste’s brother was the one he’d been daydreaming about. Auguste’s brother was the one he’d pinned in the mud. Auguste’s brother was the one in the woods on a Wolf Night.

“You look radiant tonight,” Torveld said.

He did, but Damen ached to see him as he’d been in the woods. The version of Laurent before him was a gem polished to perfection - not a hair out of place or a crack in the marble of his skin. But he was like one of the statues that topped the fountains in the summer palace: still, sharp, detached. The rider hadn’t been that way. The rider’s hair had fallen wildly about his flushed face, body full of spirit and ready to lash out. More like a coiled predator than a work of art.

“There you are!” Auguste materialised out of the crowd, attaching himself to his brother’s side. He grinned. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You weren’t trying to hide in the library again, were you? He used to do that all the time when he was a boy and it was time for bed.”

“Must you be forever referring to my habits as a child,” Laurent said.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I remember those times so fondly.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Oh, you are. The more you deny it the more evident it becomes. There’s no need to put on such a regal facade when we’re in the presence of old friends like Damen and Torveld.”

It was remarkable, Damen thought, how Laurent kept the colour from his cheeks, even while the signs of irritation came so clearly to his body. Before, he’d been still in a calm way, like a pond with an undisturbed surface. Now his body was clenched tight.

“Oh, that’s right,” Auguste said. “You haven’t actually met Damen yet. Here he is, Prince Damianos of Akielos, and Nikandros, one of his kyroi. Damen, Nikandros, this is my little brother, Laurent.”

“ _Prince_ Laurent,” Laurent corrected.

“A pleasure either way.” Damen extended his hand, daring Laurent to take it. _Go on_ , his raised eyebrow taunted. _Greet me cordially, or reveal to your brother that we’ve already met, that you were in the woods._

Damen didn’t think Auguste would be happy to know Laurent had been in the woods on a Wolf Night, and he was proven right the moment Laurent extended his own hand back to Damen. Instead of clasping it the way he’d done to Auguste’s, Damen cupped Laurent’s hand and brought it carefully to his lips. Auguste raised an eyebrow. Nikandros sighed. Torveld bristled.

“How wonderful to finally meet you, Prince Damianos,” Laurent said through a false smile.

“Please, call me Damen.”

“I won't. I do hope you live up to your reputation and don’t become yet another hunter we’re forced to house and feed while you catch nothing but chills.”

Damen’s eyes lit up. “You know of my reputation?”

Laurent was saved from answering by the ringing of a bell, summoning everyone to the table in the next room to dine. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief through the hall.

“Shall we?” Torveld said eagerly.

Auguste cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should first release my brother’s hand?”

Damen had forgotten he was still holding it. He released it at once, amazed that Laurent hadn’t simply ripped it free and knocked him hard on the chin in the process. He lingered, while Torveld offered his arm for Laurent to take, but Laurent went ahead with Auguste instead and didn’t look back. Damen grinned to himself. Any encounter that ended without Laurent spitting insults and storming off had to be a victory.

“I thought you were here for the Wolf,” Torveld said lowly.

Damen, still dizzy with his win, feigned confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have spent a lot of time building up my relationship with Prince Laurent.”

“Yes, and it has evidently been a success. I’m sure no man can come between you.”

Torveld scowled and marched off to the table. Damen hoped they weren’t seated close to each other.

He was in luck. Auguste took his seat at the head of the table and, as the feast was in their honour, Damen and Nikandros sat beside each other to his right. Laurent sat across from Damen, refusing to meet his eye, and Torveld was mercifully far down the other end.

“I’ve asked the chefs to prepare a selection of Veretian delicacies,” Auguste told him, as the first courses were carried in on silver platters. “I hope you’ll find something you like.”

An entire roasted pig was set down on the table in front of him. Further along, the servants uncovered fish cooked in garlic, bowls of potatoes and greens glistening with butter, crispy joints of meat, loaves of bread that still had steam wafting from their crusts.

“I’m sure I will,” Damen said, watching as Laurent went straight for the fish.

The food was delicious, the flavours much more complex than the rustic, natural cooking served in the Akielon court. The wine wasn’t as good, but that was fine. Damen shouldn’t be drinking tonight anyway. He was glad to see the tension slowly ease out of Nikandros’ posture with every bite.

“I hate to dampen the spirit of the celebration,” Damen finally said. “But what time does the Wolf normally make an appearance?”

“It varies,” Auguste said, around a mouthful of tender meat. “Sometimes early, sometimes late. It depends, really, on when the right moment presents itself.”

“The moment for what?”

“For the Wolf to attack its victim. It’ll have one selected by now.”

“I see. And are there any connections between the victims?”

It took Auguste a moment to ready an answer. Across the table, Laurent was trying very hard not to look like he was listening in.

“None,” Auguste said.

Nikandros was listening as well now. Damen was relieved that he hadn’t been the only one to find the answer strange considering the length of Auguste’s pause.

“I’ve noticed,” Laurent said. “That it tends to go for the newcomers. Those who haven’t been at court that long, like the hunters.”

“Of course it will seem like the hunters are the victims,” Auguste said with a frown. “They’re the ones throwing themselves at the beast to try and kill it. They merely die because they get in the Wolf’s way.”

“But they still die.” Laurent used a hunk of bread to soak up the buttery sauce left on his plate and popped it into his mouth. He looked to his brother innocently. “Do we not want our new guests to know that? They deserve to be warned if that is the case.”

“It’s not,” Auguste assured them.

“But in case it is,” Laurent grinned wickedly, raising his goblet of water as if in a toast, “Enjoy your meal tonight, Akielons. It could be your last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - Damen finally comes face-to-face with the Wolf


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos on this story so far! :D I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying the story!   
> Just a heads up that I've added 'gore' to the tags, but it won't be too vivid because I'm not a fan of gore myself. You can't have a story about a killer Wolf without spilling a bit of blood though, eh?   
> Hope you all enjoy! :D

Damen was not known for his willingness to give up. As a boy, crossing swords with his brother for the first time, in the training area in front of a large number of soldiers, he’d kept getting up no matter how fiercely Kastor knocked him in the dirt. It’d taken a sword piercing his side to him down.

Laurent’s words were as sharp as any blade, but so far, he hadn’t driven them deep enough to wound.

“Would you care to try the pork, Prince Laurent?” Damen asked, already in the act of cutting himself another slice.

“If I cared to, I’d already have it carved on my plate. I’m quite handy with a knife, if you didn’t know.”

Damen did know.

“Now, now, Laurent,” Auguste said with a fond smile. “Damen is our guest, and a kind and honest man. There’s no need to be so brash with him.”

“I’m brash with everyone,” Laurent said.

“And as charming as that may be, perhaps tonight you can swap those barbs for something softer? As a welcoming gesture?”

Damen waited for Laurent to fiercely refuse, but all he did was shoot his brother a dismayed glance. When he received nothing back but a smile and an encouraging nod, he sighed and fixed Damen with those icy eyes. They didn’t thaw even when he smiled.

“How very kind for you to offer me my brother’s pork at my brother’s table, Prince Damianos. But I’m afraid I don’t eat meat, so I will pass.”

“No meat?” Damen couldn’t keep his eyes from widening.

Laurent’s narrowed imperceptibly. “I lost the taste for it long ago. Does that amuse you?”

“I promise you it does not.” Damen thought of how Laurent had been with his horse. He didn’t find it too much of a leap to imagine someone who doted upon an animal in such a way might forego eating animals altogether. “If anything, I think it shows a strength of character. Men can rarely dedicate themselves to something so fully.”

“Don’t be modest,” Laurent said. “You have the same strength then. I hear your appetite for slaughtering magnificent creatures is quite relentless.”

“Laurent,” Auguste warned.

“Sorry, I mean _hunting_. Am I pronouncing that correctly?” Laurent sipped his water innocently.

Damen sat back in his chair, refusing to let his expression drop. So that was the source of the prince’s dislike of him. He heard the word ‘hunter’ and imagined a man spilling the blood of any creature that crossed his path, not someone who sought out monsters to save lives.

Auguste scowled at the prince. “Be thankful he does, brother, or who would be left to rid us of the Wolf?”

“Indeed.” Laurent’s eyes were on the table. “I don’t have much faith in any of the other hunters.”

“Neither do I,” Auguste agreed. “But I believe in Damen.”

Damen reached for his goblet, uncomfortable as the twinkling eyes of those sitting nearest moved to him. Would they still twinkle if the sun rose and the Wolf wasn’t dead?

Nikandros cleared his throat. “This pork really is delicious. What did you say was in the glaze again?”

Dessert descended on the table in bowls of fruit, peaks of cream, tiered cakes with colourful glazes, and pungent cheese. The wine sweetened with the rest of the meal, and those seated around the table seemed in better spirits. Of course they were. With the last course served, surely the banquet would end soon?

“Will you not offer me a slice of the black forest?” Laurent teased, lifting his plate expectantly.

Damen, who was skeptical after having had his last five attempts at engaging Laurent in a friendly conversation shut down, eyed the prince cautiously.

“He’ll take it,” Auguste said. “Laurent loves desserts so much, I dare say he’d accept a sweetmeat from the Wolf itself if it offered.”

“A shame all that sugar doesn’t sweeten his words,” Damen said. He balked when Auguste laughed and Laurent glared. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to say that aloud.”

“Don’t hold your tongue on my account,” Laurent said. “Attacking something without the ability to defend itself soon loses its charm. You might not agree, but oh well. The cake?”

When the final platter was cleared away, it was completely black outside. Damen noticed he wasn’t the only one eyeing the windows. Laurent kept glancing in their direction too.

“It’s getting late,” he finally said.

Auguste, deep in his tenth goblet of wine, poorly suppressed a yawn. “I suppose it is, isn’t it.”

The scraping of the King’s chair caught everyone’s attention. Damen could sense them all tensing to rise the moment he left.

“Dancing!” Auguste declared. “That should liven us all up. It feels like a wake in here.”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Auguste…”

But the King had already returned to the open part of the hall, and was calling over some of his guards.

“Where are the musicians?” he demanded.

“In their homes, Your Highness. They dare not venture out on a Wolf Night.”

“Not even to entertain their King? And their King’s honoured friend?”

“Erm… no, Your Highness. I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

With a weary sigh, Laurent went to Auguste’s side.

“I think the King has had too much to drink,” he said to the guard. “Please escort him back to his chambers. We don't want him off frolicking in the gardens when the Wolf shows up.”

“You’re no fun,” Auguste said.

“Why be when you’re enough fun for the both of us?”

The guards looked relieved to have orders they could actually follow. Two of them supported Auguste as he staggered out of the hall. Only seconds later, the lords and ladies of the court were making their exit after him. They paused briefly beside Laurent on their way out to offer him their thanks and a curt bow or curtsey.

“A wonderful banquet, Your Highness.”

“What delicious food.”

“I hope you have a safe night.”

Damen expected that he and Nikandros would be the only ones still seated when it was all over, but a few other guests lingered. They were mostly lords that, like Auguste, had had too much to drink, and so had forgotten why leaving was something they’d once wanted to do. Lady Vannes and Lord Berenger were also still there, heartily enjoying the leftovers that remained. They didn’t seem in a hurry to depart.

Damen glanced back to Laurent. The prince was looking out through the window again, unaware he was being observed. Damen got the sense that the prince would leave soon as well, and he couldn’t have that. Not without clearing the air between them.

“Don’t do it,” Nikandros warned, but Damen was already rising and strode across the hall.

He called out just as Laurent was turning to the doors. “Prince Laurent.”

Laurent sighed and schooled himself before facing him. “Prince Damianos.”

“I said you can call me Damen.”

“And I said I’d rather not.” Laurent crossed his arms. “Is this so important that it can’t wait until morning? I’m tired.”

“I don’t slaughter them.” Laurent looked confused, so Damen went on. “The animals I hunt. Earlier, you made a comment. I wanted you to know that when I must kill them, I do it quickly. They don’t suffer.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Laurent finally asked.

“I feel like there is tension between us. I know we didn’t meet under ideal circumstances, but I would genuinely like to know you better, Prince Laurent. I hope that we can put aside any bad feelings and try to be friends.”

“Friends.” Laurent spoke the word as if it were a strange idea. “With you? Because you’re my brother’s friend, so good and honourable?”

Damen rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t put it in those words, exactly. But yes.”

Laurent’s expression turned hostile. “But you’re not though, are you. You’re not good. You’re not honourable. And though you may have my brother fooled, I know you’re no friend to him.”

Damen’s mouth fell open to deny it, but Laurent beat him to it.

“A _good_ man would have been here the moment he heard about the Wolf. An _honourable_ one wouldn’t be demanding payment like you are. The only reason you came was for the reward Auguste’s offering. The Wolf has been terrorising us for _years_ , and you only turned up now because killing it will benefit you. Does that sound like something a friend would do to another? Wait until they’re desperate, and then extort an entire province out of them?”

“ _Years_?” Damen swallowed. “I didn’t realise.”

“It’s the sort of thing a friend would tell another friend,” Laurent said, “If they’d kept up their correspondence.”

Damen breathed calmly through the guilt bubbling up inside. He’d learned about the Wolf and the reward in the same moment - was it so wrong for him to seek them both together?

“I’d have come sooner if I’d known,” he said. He thought it was true.

“And killed it for us without payment?” Laurent gasped. “How generous!”

“Your brother is the one who offered the reward. He’s happy to pay it, and I’m hardly the only one here seeking it.”

Laurent shook his head. “Have you met the other hunters? They’re commoners. Low-born. Auguste’s reward could change their lives. But you? You’re a Prince. You already have everything you need. Yet you’ll take more anyway.”

Damen’s expression tightened. “I don’t take without reason. Despite how highly you think of yourself, Prince Laurent, you don’t know everything.”

“Yet I know enough to conclude that I have no interest in being anything to you, let alone your friend. And with that, I believe my brother’s wish for me to play nice with you has expired.”

Without so much as a muttered farewell, Laurent turned on his heels and left. Damen watched the back of his golden head drift away in the direction of the courtyard. He quietly seethed. He wished he’d mentioned the woods to Auguste. He wished he hadn’t wasted his good nature on someone as self-assured and bitchy as Prince Laurent.

He turned away from the doors in a huff, fully intending to return to Nikandros and banish his foul mood with a few more goblets of wine. He’d gone only a few steps when he looked back to the doorway. Auguste had returned to his chamber escorted by guards. The lords and ladies had gone in groups. Laurent had left alone.

Through the haze of anger in his head, Damen reasoned that as unpleasant as Laurent was, he didn’t deserve to get torn up by the Wolf. He’d prove the prince’s assessment of his character wrong by escorting him back to his chambers. They could walk in silence if he wanted. And after that, Damen would bury the thoughts he’d had about Laurent being desirable, and avoid him for the rest of his stay here.

“Laurent.” Damen hurried out of the hall. The Prince couldn’t have gone too far. He crossed the room with the high ceiling, approaching the corridor that led through the courtyard. “Laurent, wait-”

Damen froze. From where he stood, he could see down the corridor, to the courtyard, and down the corridor after it. All three were completely silent and empty. No guards, no lingering courtiers in the alcoves, and no Laurent.

“Laurent?” he called cautiously, but there was no answer.

Either the prince had sprinted back to his chambers the moment he was beyond Damen’s sight, or… Damen walked to the courtyard and peered out into the dark garden. Thanks to the fog, not even the moon lit them.

Surely not. Surely Laurent wasn’t foolish enough to venture out into them alone.

Damen continued along the corridor. If Laurent had fled to get away from him as soon as possible, it was unlikely he’d continue at such a pace. He wouldn’t, after all, have expected Damen to come after him.

Damen moved cautiously through the silent palace. Shutters hadn’t been pulled down over windows. Candles had burned down to stumps on some ledges and tables. Every door was shut. If he hadn’t seen the hall full an hour or so ago, he’d have assumed the palace was empty.

Damen’s gaze twitched to one side. Was that movement, or just a shadow shifting as a candle flame burned lower? He felt like he could hear whispers if he strained his ears enough. Or was that just the breeze running through the trees outside? What was real and what was imagination? How could anyone tell for sure in this overly-decorated place?

Damen was somewhere he didn’t recognise now: an open-planned room with low chairs and tables clustered in corners. Tall plants sat between them, giving each table a semblance of privacy. The leaves were bobbing, but Damen couldn’t feel a breeze. Only a single candelabra had been lit here, right in the centre of the room, and on every wall, shadows writhed and moved. The longer Damen stared, the surer he was that he could see the Wolf within them. There were its reaching claws. There was its pointed snout. There were its rows of fangs, silently gnashing at the air. His skin prickled. He unsheathed his sword and spun around.

Nikandros swore as he staggered back, only just avoiding the tip of Damen’s blade.

“Careful with that!” Nikandros exclaimed. “You’re not some youth eagerly swinging his first weapon.”

“I’m sorry.” Feeling foolish, Damen put his sword away. With Nikandros here, the shadows no longer felt threatening. They were just leaves. “What are you doing here?”

“I got worried when you didn’t return to the table. I thought you’d either gone to bed with the prince, or off hunting on your own. I don’t know which outcome would be worse.”

“You don’t have to worry about Laurent anymore. He’s made it quite clear I’m not welcome, and I’ve decided his pretty face isn’t worth the trouble.”

“So why are you wandering the palace then?” Nikandros raised an eyebrow.

Damen scowled. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to-”

A bell rung distantly in the night.

Damen heard it clear as a shattering glass. So did Nikandros, if the paling of his face was anything to go by. It was unmistakably the bell from one of their traps. They’d caught something.

“Do you still have the crossbow I gave you?” Damen asked.

Nikandros unslung it. “I do. But Damen-”

“Come on.” Damen was already moving.

Nikandros jogged to keep up. “Damen. Please, let’s think about this. It might not be the Wolf. And if it is, you haven’t seen the Wolf. You don’t know what it’s capable of. We shouldn’t leave the palace grounds in the dark.”

“If it is the Wolf, do you really think it’ll still be trapped by morning? Even I could chew through a rope if I had a whole night to do it.”

The bell stopped, and Damen stopped with it. He was about to curse his luck, to agree for the sake of his own pride that maybe it hadn’t been the Wolf, when another bell rang. This one sounded closer.

“It can’t be,” Nikandros choked. “That’s-”

The bell stopped. It didn’t even take a breath for another louder one to start.

“It’s getting closer to the palace,” Damen realised, spurred into action once again. “Grab that torch. Let’s go!”

Nikandros did what he was told without protest.

They found their way back to the courtyard. A guard was actually present this time - the one who’d been speaking inappropriately about Laurent. He was staring out in the direction of the woods. He looked like he was about to faint when he turned to Damen.

“Is that-?”

“I believe so,” Damen said.

The guard put a hand against the wall to support himself. If he was going to be sick, Damen wasn’t hanging around to watch.

“Nikandros, give me the torch. Go back to your room. I wouldn’t ask you to face the unknown with me.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Nikandros said firmly.

They left the glow of the palace and stepped out into the dark. To Damen, it felt as if they had plunged below water. The foggy air was cold, the sounds of the guard retching muffled the moment they were more than a few metres away. Nikandros kept looking back at the palace’s light, as if to make sure it was still there for them to return to.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Damen told him. “I know you’re brave, Nikandros. I also know you believe in bad omens. I won’t think any less of you if you-”

“Shut up,” Nikandros said sharply. “Let’s just keep moving.”

The torch helped their visibility only slightly. Even in the daylight, the fog had obscured their vision, and now they had a mere flame. It showed them where they were, but not where they were headed. They wouldn’t see the Wolf unless it was right before them. Still, Damen refused to go back.

He had been spooked when wandering the palace alone. He had begun to believe what everyone else already did - that the Wolf was more than a mere beast. Never again would he let such foolishness cloud his mind. He would face the Wolf tonight, and even if it wasn’t killed, he’d prove to himself that it was no more monster than the lion who’d won him his reputation.

The bells were still ringing, still stopping abruptly and then starting again, closer. So many of the traps had been sprung, that Damen had to wander if the beast was really falling prey to them, or merely springing them as a mocking gesture. _I see your simple contraptions, hunter. Do you really think it will be so easy for you?_

They were almost at the gate they’d left through earlier. Damen recognised the faint spectres of the bushes carved to resemble animals. Now that he knew of Laurent’s love of them, he had to wonder if Auguste had had them cut that way specifically to please him. The bells were as loud as screeching blades. Damen couldn’t remember how close to the woods’ border they’d set their nearest trap.

“Are you ready, Nikandros?” he asked.

Nikandros, incapable of speech, nodded. Damen unsheathed his sword.

The bells stopped and did not start again. Damen kept still for a few moments, waiting to be sure. Had that been the last trap? And if so, had the Wolf now turned back, or was it beyond the woods? Would it come through the very gate they’d planned to open?

He listened for footfalls, and heard none, so he reached for the bolt that kept the gate shut from the inside. His skin prickled, and he called himself every childish name until his fingers closed around the metal handle.

“Damen! There!”

Before Damen could turn, Nikandros had fired a bolt at a shape in the fog. Damen leapt towards it, Nikandros already rushing closer with the torch raised.

It was just a bush. In Nikandros’ defence, it had been shaped like a jumping dog. His bolt had sailed right through the head.

Damen grinned, body shaking with suppressed laughter.

Nikandros’ face was red. “Shut up.”

“At least your aim was true.”

“Honestly, Damen, I’ll-” Nikandros’ eyes went wide. His mouth moved in the shape of Damen’s name, but no sound emerged.

Damen sensed only the presence of something far larger than himself, something as cold and boundless as the shadows around them. He didn’t have time to raise his blade. A sensation like a stampeding horse charging into his back, and he was flying through the air. He landed hard amidst something that crunched and snapped beneath his weight. An entire bush, toppled by the force of his landing.

The air trembled with a fierce, wild noise that was equal parts thunder and wind, beast and monster. Damen felt it throb behind his eyes, flare up the aches of past injuries.

Winded as he was, he rolled to his feet quickly. He couldn’t see Nikandros, only the distant glow cast by his torch. The light was cowering against the form that loomed over it, something that was too much a part of the fog and the shadows for Damen to make out.

“Nikandros!”

Fearing for his friend’s life, he grabbed whatever he could reach (a stepping stone lying in the grass?) and hurled it at the form. Perhaps it had just been the shadows all along. The stone flew through its mark, and Damen heard the swift thudding of approaching steps. His hair stood on end - a sure sign that he was in something’s sights.

A shuddering breath left him as he raised his blade, sensing the direction of the attack from pure instinct alone. His heart raced as the force of the blow drove his blade back down. He gasped for breath as he raised it again and again, the blows coming in quick succession, each as strong as the last. He backed up as they kept coming, warm breath pushing the hair back from his face, an animal stench washing over him. He had no time to look around, wouldn’t be able to see the obstacles anyway without the torch’s light. How far had he moved? What direction did the palace lie in?

There wouldn’t be time to figure it out. Already, he could feel his arm trembling from the exertion it took to keep raising his blade and weather the strikes thrown at him. His throat had gone dry - no way to call out for Nikandros or help, not that anyone could have helped him. His skin was hot against the cool air, sweat making its way in rivulets down his back.

He knew, with grim certainty, that he would tire long before his opponent did.

In a last desperate attempt, Damen tried to dodge the next strike instead of meeting it. He chose a direction and threw himself in it, aware that if he misjudged, it would mean his death. He was lucky. The damp grass met his palms and knees and his side remained un-pierced. He heard the strike meant for him dent the earth, felt it quake beneath his feet. He sprung up and swung his blade with a cry.

Did it connect? He didn’t know. He felt no resistance against his blade, but the fierce noise pierced his ears once again. A blow to his stomach sent him flying back through another bush. Before he’d even landed, the creature was on top of him.

Damen’s head spun. His sword was gone from his grip, his limbs weighed down with fatigue. Debris from the ruined bush covered him. He felt something like moist fur brush his neck, and then a snap like a breaking branch. The weight lifted from him, the crunching of fangs ringing out like a thousand breaking bones.

His ears went numb as a bloody howl was shrieked into the silent night - a noise of carnage and conquest and threat. It was the last thing heard before his eyes slipped shut, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

He awoke to water pouring down on his face.

The acceptable reaction would be to bolt upright, splutter, and swear blindly at whoever had awoken him in such an unpleasant way. In his groggy, exhausted state, all Damen could do was open his eyes and blink them to clarity.

Laurent stood over him, looking down with a bored expression as he emptied out the remains of his filled goblet. Had it been any other form of waking, Damen would have believed he’d died in the night, and this was an angel sent to welcome him to the afterlife.

“He’s over here, Auguste,” Laurent called, and Damen forced his bleary eyes to see past that lovely face.

There was clear sky above him. Sunlight warmed his skin. No fog in sight. The relief was so strong that it almost sent him back to sleep, but he had to know what had happened. Was Nikandros alright?

Carefully, Damen sat up. Leaves and broken branches fell from him. Lying next to him, in a heap, was the torn, splintered neck of what had once been a giraffe-shaped bush. He faintly recalled the beast being upon him, the sound of its jaws breaking something in half. This bush had saved his life.

“Damen! Damen!”

Nikandros appeared next to Laurent, his face frantic. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night.

“You look tired, old friend.” Damen tried to smile, but his blood was still chilled.

Nikandros did not look amused. “I thought you were dead! I searched all night but couldn’t find where you’d gone.”

“None of us could.” Auguste appeared soon after, looking just as relieved to see Damen alive and in one piece.

Damen realised then how parched he was. Damn Laurent for wasting a perfectly good goblet of water.

“That was it, wasn’t it,” Damen said. “The creature I fought last night. It was the Wolf.”

Laurent snorted. “Fought is a generous word. It implies that both sides put up an equal fight.”

He gestured, and Damen got a good look at the garden around him. Bushes had been torn down. He could see the marks in the grass from where he’d dug his heels in to withstand the attack. Opposite them, the feet of something large, clawed and heavy dwarfed his own.

He lifted his eyes a bit further, more towards the palace, and balked. A man lay torn open in a pool of dried blood. From throat to sternum, he’d been opened like a book and left face down for everything to fall out of. His face, frozen in abject horror, was turning yellow. Damen recognised him as the guard he’d spoken to before going out into the gardens, the one who’d looked faint. Had he heard the noise of the fight and rushed to help, or had the Wolf dragged him here to complete its grisly scene?

Damen couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gore. This was inhuman. It was beyond even a beast. Clearly, the Wolf was neither. He understood that now with a certainty that filled him with dread.

Laurent seemed to be the only one pleased by the sight of Damen on his back. “And to think I was worried that you’d have to give Defluer to him, Auguste. He’s just as useless as the rest of them.”

Auguste followed Damen’s gaze and looked away from the corpse quickly. How many people had been killed in such a way? How much death had the King of Vere seen? He offered Damen a faint smile as the palace stirred with the sounds of waking.

“Now do you see why I’m desperate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - Normal life resumes in the palace, Damen looks for help and Nik says I told you so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this chapter took a bit longer than normal! I try to update at least once a week, but sometimes that's not possible. Thanks once again to everyone who has left a kudos or comment. You guys make my day! <3

Wine was brought - lots of it.

Damen drank it with detached focus, back in his chambers while Nikandros paced by the balcony doors. He kept replaying the encounter in his head, searching for details he’d missed. The Wolf had appeared, it’d attacked him relentlessly, it’d fled only when it thought he was dead. He thought he’d been lucky enough to lay a hit on it, but his blade, when found, was clean of blood. The sides were dented though and looked like the edge of leaf after a bug had nibbled on it.

“To leave now would seem cowardly,” Nikandros was saying. “But surely the King can’t expect you to stay and risk death? You are a prince, with your own country who needs you. What would it do to the peace to have an Akielon prince die on Veretian soil?”

“We’re not leaving,” Damen said firmly, even as his hand trembled when refilling his cup.

They _couldn’t_ leave. Not after the bold claims he’d made to the Veretian court, not after Auguste had put so much faith in his success. His pride, his throne, his reputation as a hunter - all of it depended on him facing the Wolf again. And killing it this time.

Nikandros looked pained when he whirled on Damen. “I warned you. I _warned_ you, damn it.”

“I know.” Damen pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to relieve the pounding in his head. “And you have the satisfaction of my regret.”

What could he have done differently, he reasoned. Not boasted as much? That would have softened the blow to his pride, but only slightly. Approached the hunt with different eyes? Perhaps. But even if he’d known that the Wolf was more than just a beast, he still wouldn’t know how to kill it. Just as he didn’t know now.

Damen stood and examined his side in the floor-length mirror once again. He had bruising, but the palace physician, Paschal, had assured him there was nothing badly damaged. He was lucky. Far more lucky than the palace guard who’d had his body split open.

The corpse and the damage to the garden had now been cleared, but there was still a brownish stain on the ground where the guard had died. Even now, Damen could hear the splash of water and the scratch of bristles as servants desperately tried to remove it.

He finished another cup of wine and reached decisively for his hunting cloak.

“Paschal advised rest,” Nikandros said.

“I know he did. That doesn’t mean I have to spend it here in solitude.”

Nikandros rushed over to put a hand against the door, preventing Damen from opening it fully.

“The King wished me to tell you that with the fog gone, activities in the Veretian court will have returned to normal. You may wish to wait until your nerves have settled before facing them.”

Damen scowled. “My nerves are fine.”

“Then why so angry, Damen?” Nikandros refused to break eye contact. “I know you. Your temper only rises when you feel trapped or cheated. The Veretians are masters of seeking out sore spots and prodding them. I’d rather you weren’t provoked into breaking their necks.”

Damen drew and released a steadying breath. The muscles in his arms were twitching, so he clenched his fists lightly to still them.

“I don’t need to break a neck to silence unsavoury words, Nik. I’ll simply remind them that I have faced the Wolf and lived, and they have not.” He was hardly the first hunter to have failed, after all. Torveld’s hunters had been here much longer than he had. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to see more of the palace, now that it actually feels occupied.”

Nikandros sighed, but didn’t stop him from pushing his hand away and stepping out.

It was immediately clear to him that today would not be like the previous one. With the fog gone, sunlight poured in through the patterned window shutters. It wasn’t the scorching sunlight of Akielos, but it was enough to brighten the halls and corridors of the palace. Damen retraced the path he’d wandered last night whilst looking for Laurent. The shadows were gone. No sense of unease remained.

As he neared the open-planned room with the plants that Nikandros had found him in, he heard the low echo of voices. They were punctuated every now and then by a sharp laugh, and his stomach clenched to think that it might be at his expense. As such, he paused before entering, inhaling and exhaling another calming breath and drawing himself up to his full, proud height. He entered.

The low chairs had courtiers lounging in them, and most courtiers had pets on their laps. Other pets leant over the back of the chairs, rubbing their masters’ shoulders or wrapping their arms around their necks while sultry words and tongue tips brushed the shell of their ears.

A flash of red hair drew Damen’s gaze to the furthest corner. He recognised Lord Berenger’s pet, Ancel, leaning on the edge of a table with a hand of cards. Berenger was seated across from him, half concentrating on the game, half listening to Lady Vannes beside him. Vannes’ eyes flashed when she saw Damen enter, as if she’d been awaiting his arrival.

“The hunter lives,” she said, loud enough that everyone in the room heard.

Damen felt nauseous as all conversation ceased, all eyes turning to him. Was he imagining the whispers?

_Even the Lion’s Lion couldn’t best the Wolf._

_Would have died as easily as the others if not for a lucky branch._

_And to think our King spoke so highly of him._

“Come join us,” Berenger said.

The silence lasted until Damen had sunk into his own seat at their table. When the talking resumed, it was with an edge of caution to it. As if the subject of their gossip was now close enough to hear. Damen’s expression betrayed his unease.

“Ignore them,” Vannes said quietly. “Not one of them is brave enough to do as you did last night. They need to lessen you, to feel that they themselves are not lesser. Which they are.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Damen said. “But I fear I have brought such talk upon myself. I’ve hunted so many monsters that turned out to just be beasts, and I foolishly assumed the Wolf would be the same.”

“So did you see it?” Ancel said. Berenger gave him a displeased look. “What? We’re all wondering the same thing.”

“Is the Wolf’s appearance not widely known?” Damen asked.

“How can it be?” Vannes said. “Almost everyone who encounters it ends up dead.”

Damen frowned. “Then how do you know it’s a wolf?”

“The first time it left a victim in Arles, the hunters who came to help said the tracks belonged to a wolf. A very large one, but still. And King Auguste confirmed it. I believe he, too, has seen the beast. Back before its attacks were so frequent.”

“When was the Wolf first sighted? What date did the frequent killings begin? _Why_ did they begin? What changed?”

“There’s probably some record in the library,” Berenger said, his concentration back on his cards. Ancel was winning and looking very smug about it. “Though your time would be better spent trying to predict where it will appear and how it can be killed.”

“Oh, please,” Vannes scoffed. “Making it appear where you want is easy enough. You just need to know who its victim will be.”

Damen stared at her in shock. “You speak as if that were easy to do.”

Vannes smiled slyly. “It is.”

“No, Vannes.” Berenger had gone stiff. “Say nothing.”

“But if it’s true, Berenger, doesn’t he have a right to know? Wouldn’t it be helpful?”

“But you’re speculating. You have no true evidence.”

“Lady Vannes. Lord Berenger.”

Damen spun, glad the racing of his heart was not evident in his expression. A young boy, no older than thirteen, had snuck over to them unnoticed. At Damen’s sudden movement, he shrunk back momentarily, his blue eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Damen said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” the boy protested, glaring. Still, he gave Damen a wide birth as he moved around to where Berenger and Vannes were sitting.

“Nicaise.” Vannes seemed delighted. “We’re meeting quite regularly these days, aren’t we.”

“A lucky streak,” Nicaise said. “It’ll end soon.”

He drew a neatly tied bundle from his pocket and dumped it on the table in front of her. Then he dropped another bundle into Berenger’s lap.

“Your winnings,” he sneered.

Berenger frowned. “But I didn’t participate.”

“Sure you did.” Ancel plucked the bundle up quickly. He winked. “You sent me to place the wager on your behalf, remember?”

Berenger sighed.

“What wager?” Damen asked, but Nicaise had already hurried away again. He turned his question to Vannes instead. “Who was that?”

“Nicaise,” Vannes said. “He’s one of the kitchen boys, I think. He helps make the fog a little less daunting and a lot more profitable by taking wagers on who the Wolf shall kill.”

“That’s abhorrent!” Damen said.

“I agree.” Berenger glared at Ancel, who’d tipped the bundle of coins into his palm to count.

“Oh, it’s only a bit of fun,” Vannes said, “And look.” She held up her own winnings. “I guessed right. I’ve guessed right on the last seven victims. Isn’t that remarkable, Prince Damianos? At what point does it stop being a guess and start being a prediction?”

“Which reminds me: thanks for the tip off,” Ancel said to her.

Vannes smiled. “I’m happy to share my inside information with those I like. Also with those who I know don’t plan on profiting from it, such as yourself, Prince Damianos. And so I will tell you what I’ve noticed.”

“Don’t,” Berenger said sternly.

Damen wanted to tell him to shut up. Fortunately, Vannes wasn’t one to be ordered around. She leant close.

“It seems to me that there’s a pattern in who the Wolf kills. A rather alarming pattern, if you ask me. But that’s for you to investigate, not I. I’m merely an observer. Last night, the Wolf killed a loud-mouthed guard. Before that, it was a lord who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. And before that, a bitter servant who liked to spread unsavoury rumours. Do you know what links all of these victims?”

Damen’s patience was running thin. “I don’t. Just tell me.”

Vannes grinned. “All of them transgressed against Prince Laurent.”

“Keep your voice down!” Berenger hissed, glancing around the room nervously.

“The servant spread rumours about the Prince that I shan’t repeat. The lord got drunk and made a scene trying to invite the Prince to his bed. As for the guard, well, even you must have heard what he had to say regarding the Prince.”

Damen did remember.

“Can the same be said for all the victims?” he asked quietly.

“I imagine so. I’ve not thought much about those who came before my successful wagers, but there is little love for the Prince in this court.”

Damen thought back to his own interactions with Laurent. He, too, had wronged the Prince in some way. Had the Wolf picked him out as a victim as well, or had it only attacked because he’d gotten in the way of its true prey?

“Don’t mistake my theory for scorn,” Vannes added hastily. “I have nothing against the Prince. I know for a fact that he’s a good man with a strong character. Good men like that always clash with wicked ones, and this court is full of wicked snakes.”

“Still.” Damen didn’t want to think too deeply about something that hadn’t been proven. But if Vannes was correct and all the victims were linked to the Prince, it shone a suspicious light on Laurent. Was he aware of the connection? Was he guilty of it?

“But the uncle,” Berenger suddenly said. “He was killed by the Wolf, and he didn’t wrong the Prince in any way.”

“True,” Vannes relented. “Like I said, Prince Damianos, it’s only a theory.”

“I understand.” Damen rose. “And I thank you for it. Please excuse me.”

All this speculation and talk of the Wolf was making him restless. He couldn’t lounge around when he still knew so little. Forget resting his nerves - he needed to work.

Back in the corridors, a passing servant was able to direct Damen to the library. He looked surprised to be asked. Clearly the other hunters stuck to their weapons and didn’t seek help from books.

When Damen pushed open the smooth, white double doors, he was momentarily blinded by sunlight coming through the window directly opposite the library’s entrance. It took him a few moments to blink it away, and then his gaze rested on a figure curled up on the cushioned ledge just before the window.

Prince Laurent looked peaceful and boyish, his legs folded up beside him like a resting fawn, his face relaxed as he lost himself completely in the book resting in his hands. The tight fastenings of his outfit had been loosened. He hadn’t even bothered to do up the ones around his neck.

 _He’s a good man,_ Vannes had said.

 _You’re not good. You’re not honourable,_ Laurent had said to him.

If good men clashed with wicked ones, then which of them was the good and which one the wicked?

Damen didn’t catch the doors. They slammed shut behind him, ruining the peace. Laurent’s head whipped up, startled. His wide eyes narrowed when he saw Damen standing there.

“Forgive me for the intrusion,” Damen said.

“You keep asking me to forgive you,” Laurent said icily, “Without doing anything to make me want to.”

Every time. Every time Damen saw Laurent anew, he forgot how scathing and harsh his words could be. Why did he keep hoping for anything different? He stood in silence, Laurent’s eyes still upon him.

 _Well?,_ that arrogant gaze seemed to demand.

 _Where did you go last night?_ Damen wanted to ask. _Why do the people who wrong you end up dead?_

He said nothing and instead went to the nearest shelf. Anything to get a barricade between himself and Laurent as soon as possible.  
Now hidden, he took a moment to gaze around the cavernous room. The library was almost as large and grand as the hall from last night’s celebration. The ceiling was high, lined all the way from roof to carpet with shelves of books. Damen looked up at the highest shelves, praying that the books he needed wouldn’t be up there. There was a ladder on wheels he could climb, but he’d much rather keep his search to the rows of shelves on the ground. A maze of them surrounded him, leading a small areas like the one Laurent currently sat in: secluded spots for reading.

“I didn’t have you pegged as a man for flowers,” Laurent called.

Damen stuck his head around the shelf. “Excuse me?”

“Those books you’re looking at. That section’s all on botany and landscaping.”

Sure enough, the first spine Damen read said, _Flowers in Medicine._ He grimaced and turned to the shelves around him. Where would he even begin?

“If you’re looking for books on butchering and exploitation, you’ll have to look way over there.” Laurent pointed. “In the Akielon section.”

“You’re normally a lot more subtle in your jabs,” Damen said.

Laurent shrugged. “You caught me by surprise. If I’d known you’d be joining me I’d have prepared more.”

“Yes. You truly were surprised.” Damen smiled, remembering the way Laurent’s eyes had widened. “Do you not normally have company in here?”

“I’m a member of a court who enjoys depravity, sex and gossip. What do you think?”

“I think that you’d rather I left you in peace. And I shall, as soon as I find what I’m looking for. We’d both get what we want a lot sooner if you’d be kind enough to help.”

Laurent scowled and went back to his book.

“What is it then?” he asked in a bored tone.

“Historical records for the last twenty years. And books on Veretian folklore.”

Laurent snapped his book shut and smiled. “Oh. I see. Well, this is a first. I’ve never encountered a hunter who researched the beast he was hunting.”

“Do you think it a bad idea?” Damen challenged.

Laurent stood, his long limbs unfolding gracefully. Damen looked away while he smoothed down his loose outfit.

“This way.” Laurent strode off among the shelves. Damen hurried to keep up.

It really was amazing how many books the Veretians had fit into one room. As Damen followed Laurent deeper into the library, he spied books on every subject, from warfare and farming, to map-making and basket weaving. It made their library in Ios look like a market stall, not that he’d tell Laurent that. In fact, he didn’t plan to tell Laurent anything after their conversation last night. Which was why he was startled when he heard his own voice say, “What were you reading?”

Laurent seemed equally surprised. “A historical text about horses. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It was just a question.” Honestly, Damen wasn’t sure why he’d even asked it.

“A _friendly_ question. And I’ve already made it clear Damianos that the two of us will not become friends. I’m not as easy to fool as my brother.”

“Do you think me simple?” Damen asked.

Laurent turned his head just slightly, to give him an appraising glance. “In ways.”

“If I’m simple, how can I also be a master manipulator who forges friendships purely for my own gain?”

“You could be making yourself appear simple to avoid suspicion.”

“Then wouldn’t pointing this out to you ruin my plan?”

“It could be a double bluff.”

“Not a triple?”

“You’re trying to make me overthink it.”

“You’ve done that to yourself, Prince Laurent. Not everyone thinks as you do. I’m, as you say, _simple_ when it comes to my requests. If I’m attempting to forge a friendship, then friendship is the aim. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Laurent had nothing to say to that. Damen counted it as a small victory.

“Here is where you’ll want to search.” Laurent gestured to two shelves across the aisle from each other. “Though I should warn you, if there was anything useful here concerning the Wolf, I’d have already found it.”

Damen’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “You’re also hunting it?”

It was the wrong thing to saw. Laurent’s expression instantly shuttered, his eyes becoming hard and unfriendly. “I may not have the stature of a brute like you, but that doesn’t mean-”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Damen insisted. “I’m surprised because you’re a prince.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but.” Damen gestured helplessly. “I’m the Lion’s Lion. I hunt because it’s expected of me.”

“I’m the Prince of Vere,” Laurent said back. “The spare second son who’s happy to dirty his hands and sully his name so that Auguste doesn’t have to.”

Damen looked away. _Would Kastor do that for me if I became King?_ He knew the answer and it hurt, even now when he’d learned not to expect anything from his brother.

“Ensure you make a note of any books you take in the ledger by the entrance,” Laurent said, turning to leave. “We pride ourselves on good records here.”

“Wait,” Damen said. Laurent actually did. “You’re hunting the Wolf, and I’m hunting the Wolf. Wouldn’t it be best for both of us, for everyone, if we worked together? Shared our knowledge and our skills.”

Damen had done similar things before. When hunting near the villages furthest from Ios in landscapes he wasn’t familiar with, he had a local guide. It allowed him to focus purely on the hunt, while any relevant information was given to him when he needed it. Laurent could do that. If Laurent had already searched all these books, he’d be ideal for it.

Laurent was smiling when he turned to Damen. No doubt he also realised how perfectly they could work together. But then, as usual, Laurent ruined the moment by opening his mouth.

“No.”

Damen balked. “No?”

“Not used to refusal, are you.” Laurent kept smiling pleasantly as he walked away.

Damen supposed he should be grateful that they hadn’t parted on a bad note, as they had every other time. It was progress.

The shelves Laurent had gestured to were each as long as a felled tree, and packed with books both old and new. Fortunately, the historical texts were ordered by date. Damen picked out a few of the most recent ones and settled down on the floor to get to work. The ensuing silence was only broken when he or Laurent (who’d presumably returned to his own book) turned a page.

Damen lost track of how long he sat there. His focus was completely absorbed by skimming the books, seeking particular words that might lead him to useful information. _Victim. Fog. Wolf._ But as Laurent had said, there was nothing relevant, nothing helpful. More and more books joined him in piles on the floor, and still he couldn’t pinpoint when exactly the Wolf had begun its reign.

Damen stood when the piles were so numerous that the way down the aisle was impassable. With a weary sigh, he began to arduous process of returning the books to the exact places he’d found them in. Laurent would kill him for anything less.

“You don’t want to work with me,” Damen called to him, “But could you at least share the answers to my questions, if you know them.”

No response. No refusal. Damen picked his way back through the shelves.

“When is the earliest recorded sighting of the Wolf? At what point did it start killing so frequently? You told me the Wolf had been plaguing you for years, so you must have some idea of-”

Damen emerged back near the entrance. The seat Laurent had previously occupied was empty. His shoulders slumped. The library doors opened.

“Ah, there you are.” Auguste stepped in smiling. “My brother told me I’d find you here.”

“Truthfully, I didn’t realise he'd left. I assumed he was still by the window.” Damen wondered at what point it’d been. Had he departed after finishing his own book, or was his hatred for Damen so strong that he couldn’t stand being in the same room as him for more than a few minutes?

Auguste chuckled. “Sounds about right. Laurent hates to be predictable.”

“He is…” Damen sighed. “Vexing.”

“Yes, truly.” From Auguste’s grin, he’d evidently taken it as a compliment. “But enough about Laurent. How are you? I realise it was rude of my not to check in on you earlier. Nikandros told me you were taking a stroll around the palace.”

“I was.”

“And now you’re… in here?” Auguste’s expression softened. “You know, the only people who tend to come in here are those trying to hide.”

Damen flushed. “I’m not hiding.”

“I’m glad. Whatever my court has been saying, disregard it. Even though the Wolf still lives, so do you, and that enough is proof of your competency as a hunter.”

Damen bit his lip. “I’m sorry to have let you down, my friend. You had such faith in me-”

“And I still do.” Auguste placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Damen, I never truly thought that you’d kill the Wolf on your first night in Vere. I could see in your eyes that you didn’t believe it was anything more than a beast. Now, you know better. The Wolf has lost its element of surprise, and next time I don’t think it will best you so easily.”

“I hope not.”

“I _know_ not. Now smile. Bring back that prideful spirit you wore so well on your arrival. Tomorrow I’ve organised a hunt in a nearby wood. You can best all the lords who participate and remind them why you have tales told about you and they don’t.”

The thought of returning to something familiar eased the tension in Damen’s chest. Perhaps sinking his spear into some game would relieve him of the frustration of having the Wolf escape him. But as he pictured his victory, the moment when his weapon drew blood, his thoughts didn’t turn to glee. He thought of Laurent, watching him with judgemental blue eyes.

_You’re not good. You’re not honourable._

Laurent, who’d been alone in the woods. Laurent, who’d disappeared last night. Laurent, who was potentially linked to all the Wolf’s victims. Damen’s eyes narrowed. _One of us is good and one of us is wicked. Which is which?_

“What’s that look for?” Auguste teased. “Are you plotting something?”

“Of course not,” Damen said.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Damen and Auguste hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! 
> 
> I'm super excited to be writing my first Captive Prince fanfic. I've been a silent member of the fandom for a while now, and have been in awe of all the amazing writing talent that exists in this community. I just finished reading the amazing 'When the Sun is on Again' and it made me want to try writing my own fanfic, so here we go!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! 
> 
> Next chapter - Damen and Laurent meet!


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